Here along the Gulf Coast we are in the doldrums of the reenactment season.  It’s 5:30 in afternoon in this little coastal town.  It is 92 degrees, with 93% humidity.  That’s a tough combination for wool.  My unit’s next event is a sweltering scorcher over toward the end of August that will be a pre-Creek Indian war thing.  Even though it is unpleasantly warm, because of the hiatus during the June, July, and most of August, we all look forward to it.  When September rolls around the hobby is cranked up for good and will run full bore until January.  There is not much going on in January.  That is not the case with February.  One of our better events is the first weekend in February.  March is busy.  April and May are filled to the gills and then we toss out an anchor and jerk to a stop.  That is the way things have been and, most likely, will probably remain in this realm.  Toss in the price of gasoline and it will be interesting to see what the numbers of participants look like at this falls edition of these same events.

So, Curtis, I might meyybee hev an invite to cook at an engraved invitation to hell before our traditional season opener in the front portals of the same region.  

I need to wade through the emails and see.  What else do you want to learn to cook?  

Terre,

I am well aware Ft Mims is nothing less than a community festival on a bit of high ground out there in that swampy delta.  Last year’s musicians were better than I recall in recent years.  The 1812 guys and gals can be depended on to do a good job.  Most of the buckskinner contingent know what they are doing.  Your civilian group fits in smoothly with the scenario.  No matter how you present it, those Red Stick Creek Indians are (for the most part) a bunch of middle aged white guys who still look like Civil War reenactors.  As you know, my role has distilled down to nothing but narration.  It was an initial narration scrïpt that caused its share of heartburn among one of the leading lights after being edited and rewritten. The original rendition, written by a descendant of one of the few white survivors, was strictly an Indian bashing affair.  That guy wanted us to take large animal syringes, pump ketchup into baby doll heads, and bash them against tree trunks.  Geesh  Since then he has gotten his feelings injured and no longer blesses us with his presence.   I painfully realize just how ludicrous it looks there at the end with the narrator walking among the recently massacred, microphone in hand.  Standing there among the arrow festooned dead, dripping with their fun blood, trying to bring the thing to a merciful end is getting to be more and more tedious.  The reason I keep doing it is because of the little, bent over man, who stays in the background over by the large pavilion.  Those who end up strutting and prissing when the media are present have little to do with it.  Mr. Davis (___) is literally the power behind the throne.  It is he that keeps that event going.  Nothing much is going to happen at Ft Mims unless it gets his approval.  Did you know Davis (___) is 91 years old?  He is still coming out there and getting it set up.  I don’t know where he gets his energy from but he must have a hidden stash of Ponce de Leon’s liniment.  Did you know it is Davis (___) that is the one who is getting the palisades wall placed?  In a time before paved roads, fish camps, and historical markers, Davis (___) farmed that property.  One of his better producing fields is the current parking lot.  If you will take the time to sit down beside him and listen for a bit, that guy is like sitting beside an encyclopedia.  Hey, as long as that elderly gentleman wants me out there I’ll honor that request--no matter how silly it looks.  One of the things that bothered me last year is Davis (___) received a formal proclamation from the governor and both houses of the Alabama legislature for his efforts to keep Ft Mims a going entity.  That should have been a major feature of the event.   Anyhow, Davis (___) is the reason I’m there, not the guy wearing a wig with Just For Men in his moustache.  Hey, Ft Mims is a wonderfully legitimate excuse to buy a flintlock.